She reached for her sword. Fingers closed around the grips before she remembered to be surprised it was even there. What manner of assailant left her victim armed? Then again, what manner of assailant saved their victim from drowning, as hers had?

[[I apologise for how I reacted.]]

Revekah’s heart skipped a beat. Her eyes scoured the mists. There. Waist-deep in the pool, her back to Revekah once again, as if communing with the lonely statue at the water’s heart.

[[I am not at my best.]] She flexed gloved fingers, then clenched the fist and let it fall. [[You surprised me.]]

There was something familiar about the voice. Revekah let her sword fall. “Do I know you?”

[[You know who I was. I don’t know who I am.]]

“Anastacia?” Revekah clambered to her feet, wincing as damp clothing found dry flesh. “Is that you?”

[[What’s left of me. No matter how much is stripped away, there’s always more to lose.]]

Anastacia turned. Hesitant fingers brushed the shawl from her brow. She peeled away her glove and set pale white fingers to her cheek. They didn’t flex as they should, and met her “skin” with a soft, scraping glink. Revekah stifled a gasp.

[[This is who I am now.]] Self-pity swelled beneath the words.

Revekah shook her head, uncertain how to respond. So many questions. “What happened to Tarn? The lad who was with me?”

[[He ran as soon as I saw him. I didn’t mean to scare him.]] She paused. [[No. That’s a lie. I did. I very much wanted to scare him.]]

“Wouldn’t have taken much.” Revekah circled towards her, alert for danger. “Big one for stories, is Tarn. You’ve given him one to treasure, but . . . I thought you couldn’t leave Branghall?”

Anastacia faced the statue once more. [[They worshipped me here, long ago. No service was too great, no offering too generous. That adoration sated my every whim. Your realm is so much more . . . immediate . . . than my home. The notes sweeter, the flavours sharper. My mother thought me wicked. Selfish. She told me I’d come to a poor end. She was right.]]

Revekah frowned at the evasion, the details of which she poorly understood. She took a faltering step closer. She’d never truly known what to make of Anastacia, save that she lay some way short of both the demonhood Calenne ascribed and the perfection Josiri perceived. She shot a glance at the statue in the pool, raised long ago in a serathi’s likeness, and considered that she might well have been wrong on both counts.

“What happened to you?”

[[A deceiver slithered into my cage. He offered freedom, as I once offered to cure the sick and quicken life within the barren. Like my promises, his were worthless. I am free, but trapped within this . . . this . . .]]